


Unlawful

by Obaby_Wan



Category: Star Wars
Genre: F/M, Fake Marriage, Fluff, I'm bad with tags, Mutual Pinning, jedi mission, mention of child trafficing, mention of slavery, obi-wan is husband material, post-phantom menace, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26496145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obaby_Wan/pseuds/Obaby_Wan
Summary: Anakin is still a novice and Obi-Wan goes on solo missions. That is until the Council gives him a particular assignment, and he requests you to join him - posing as a couple. You had not seen much of your close friend since he lost his Master, and the mission serves as an interesting reunion.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Reader, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Reader
Comments: 10
Kudos: 133





	Unlawful

You put down three cups and the teapot you had prepared, the smoky aroma steaming out from its mouth. Your life-long best friend Obi-Wan Kenobi and his padawan were seated across from you in your quarters, the young one still recovering from the training session he just finished with other younglings, his arms crossed and lips pouted. Obi-Wan has approached you earlier with a mission brief, suggesting - no, requesting, really - that you accompany him. Without his padawan. This earned you both a resentful silent treatment from him ever since said padawan has arrived and learned that he will not be needed. You, on the other hand, were internally as giddy and excited as Anakin was moody. You had only recently been knighted yourself. Your solo mission count was now steadily increasing, their success rate following the same trend. Yet, you still welcomed new assignments with the same eagerness you had in your early padawan days. Not to mention that this time, it seemed you will be partnering with your favourite Jedi master.

“Don’t look so frustrated, Anakin. Your first mission will come sooner than expected.” You smiled at the young boy, your words doing nothing to alleviate the frown between his brows. “Honey?”

He nodded in agreement, extending his hand to accept the cup you offered. You slide Obi-Wan his and put yours down in front of you, twirling the liquid around in an attempt to accelerate the cooling process. No honey for neither of you. Not with smoked teas. “Only fruited infusions deserve a bit of sweetness” he once told you. You had thought the words he spilled over your tea conversations were enough of a sweetener.

“Maybe I could come and pretend to be your son?” Anakin’s voice was small, hopeful. This pulled a laughter out of you and Obi-Wan, his smiling eyes meeting yours. The mission he was assigned involved infiltrating the court of a powerful king in the outer-rim, thought to be the general quarters of a slave trafficking ring. Young, underage slave traffic, to be specific, which explained why Obi-Wan would not let Anakin join. You wondered if he even told him about the nature of this mission. Your presence was requested to play to role of his spouse. The king was soon hosting his bi-yearly public exposition of newly acquired slaves, presenting them to potential buyers and you were to pose as a couple of such. It could have been a solo mission, but the king had a harem of wife whom the council suspected to be heavily involved in the court’s internal affair, and only women were allowed to interact with the spouses. That is why and where you were stepping in.

Obi-Wan shook his head, putting a hand on his padawan’s shoulder. “It is better you stay here, little one. Focus on your training. Besides, I believe you will be in possession of your lightsaber when we get back - and I expect you to be able to strike me down on our next spar”. They both smirked at the unspoken challenge.

“Is that true?” You took a zip of tea. “I was not aware you were already chosen to be in the next shuttle to Ilum. That is impressive”. The young boy’s chest puffed up with pride. “Master Yoda said it was learning too fast for the youngling group I am with!”

You glanced at Obi-Wan. Anakin building his own lightsaber meant he will have to take his training more into hands, relying less on common lessons with other young Jedi. Which also means that the time of his solo missions was short-lived and coming to an end soon. You were honored to be part of what could even be his last padawan-less assignment. Yes, this will definitely be an entertaining mission, a reminiscence of your mischiefs and adventures before you were both knighted.

You’ve know Obi-Wan for almost all your life, having arrived at the Jedi temple around the same moon as him. You were probably in the same crèche, although you did not have much recollection of that time. No, your friendship with him genuinely blossomed on the very same occasion that Anakin will soon face – the Kyber harvesting on Ilum. You were both selected for the same trip, the two youngest of your training group, and the two bests. A friendly competition ensued, which over time grew into a deeper complicity, unspoken rivalry trying to best each other’s records, pressed lips failing to suppress giggles when sneaking into the kitchen past bed time, understanding glances across training rooms when one would get caught and chastised, longing and warm reunions after your respective missions during your years as padawans and – support and understanding when he lost Qui-Gon, a dozen moons ago.

You had been the one to cut his braid off. You had taken the habit to keep your quarters unlocked for nights when meditation would no longer suffice to tone down the guilt and the grief he felt, preferring to spill his sadness to you over a cup of tea, burning his tongue on the beverage. You had watched as tears dripped into his cup, hoping the hot tea would burn away the sadness, too. He was grateful for your patience and comfort, always listening without a judgement. How he was unsure about being a master. How he did not feel ready to train Anakin. How he feared he would fail. “But fear is not the Jedi way”, he has whimpered in the dark, sitting on the floor in front of you, legs crossed, his forehead pressed to your knees as you sat on your bed. “No. But it is the human way” you had answered, your fingers slowly stroking his golden red locks in an attempt to sooth his ache.

You push those memories away. Obi-Wan has recovered, in his own way. He has slowly but surely gained confidence in his skills and his ability to pass them on, even warming up to referring to Anakin as his “little one” more often than as his padawan. The informality was not lost on you. The boy was clinging to his master like a young greysor to its mother, looking up to the man and telling him all details about his day in great lengths and details over dinner, every evening. Your eyes settled on your friend, realizing that it has been a while since you’ve got a chance to study his features with such proximity and you could not recall the last time you had been alone with him. You noticed how his traits have hardened since, how his hair, longer and now always neatly arranged, was now framing his mature face. He even started growing a beard, which you had not yet decided if you liked or not. His cerulean eyes met yours, and you couldn’t help but melt a little when you realized that those, at least, have remained as soft as you remembered. Anakin must be equally succeeding at painting more wrinkles and frowns to Obi-Wan’s traits as he has at keeping his heart tender.

“I am happy to hear that. I’m sure you will find your little trip to be insightful and… dangerous”. A spark returned to the boy’s eyes upon hearing your last word. He shuffled a little in his seat, his resentment about the mission suddenly forgotten and replaced with a curious fascination. You jumped on the occasion to ensure his mood remains lightened, a smug look on your face. “Have I told you about the time your master and I went to find our crystals, and Obi-Wan was afraid the dark?”

*** * ***

Your destination coordinates where set into the navicomputer, the autopilot engaged. Everything was settled for the travel, and you both decided to indulge with an early dinner, hoping to be able to get a full night of sleep before landing at your destination. Obi-Wan headed for the ship’s kitchenette, opening the cooling storage and excitedly took out two packs of what appeared to be rye soup. “This is wonderful! I usually only get ration bars on these Council ships”. He skipped back to you, face beaming, holding a box in each hand. He was met with your suspicious glare, lips tight together.

“Come on now darling, I only have to heat it up. There is no way I can mess this up”.

“Obi-Wan, I would trust you with my life, but allow me to doubt you on this one”.

You took the boxes from an exasperated Obi-Wan and headed back to the kitchenette, deciding that you will take cooking matters in your hands. Obi-Wan was… _lousy_ , when it came to handling sustenance in any other way than putting it directly in his mouth (and even then). Burnt eyebrows and meals have been evidence of his previous attempts, and you may even have a scar somewhere on your arm, a relic of that time he believed the oven would be a safer cooking method. He had apologized profusely after managing to _short circuit and set the whole thing on fire_ and had treated you with take-out from Dex’s every time you were meeting up for weeks after the incident. “If it still hurts, I can try to kiss the pain away.” He swore it was not just an imaginary balm for younglings, something about receptors and muscles and pain signals. You pretended the burn stung for days after you had removed the last bacta patch.

Once dinner was prepared and ready without having to call an intergalactic fire brigade, you both settled around the small and only table on the ship. Obi-Wan was practically lounging on the bench seat, and you were pleased that despite your high and respected status of Jedi Master, he would still feel comfortable relaxing casually around you. You set your bowls on the table and sat on the opposite bench.

“I have got to ask though Obi, why did you choose me for this mission? The council could have just assigned anyone else”.

You hoped the question did not come out as a complaint. You were more than happy – looking forward to, even – to start this mission with him. Although you knew that assignments from the Jedi council were usually of the utmost importance and highly serious, undercovers still help an aftertaste of game to you. And who better to disguise yourself with than your favourite partner?

“Well, given the delicate nature of our role, I would rather conduct this mission with someone I truly feel at ease with. Besides, I can’t imagine having to kiss Master Shaak Ti, if it came to that”. He laughed lightly at the image, raising a spoonful of soup to his lips – and burning the tip of his tongue on it. “I keep telling Anakin to be patient, but I daresay I cannot ever wait for my meals to cool down”.

You chuckled in response, hoping he did not notice the blood rushing to your cheeks. While you were glad he confessed to feeling serene in your presence, you had to admit you did not think of the implication of this disguise. You knew Obi-Wan well enough to be able to read him, and the Force could help you anticipate his actions. This would allow you to pass as long-term, close acquaintances, but how exactly were lovers behaving together, in public? How much affection must a crime lord couple display to pass as, well, a real, intimate crime lord couple? “We may need to go through quite a bit of details before we land. You know, setting our story straight and such”. He nodded, now passively stirring his bowl, his eyes fixing you intently. You averted his gaze and dipped your spoon in the rich soup, catching yourself realizing that you wouldn’t mind so much if the mission was to “come to that”. You made a mental note to strengthen your walls and empty your mind before landing.

“You must know, I am glad you accepted to join me. I haven’t got the chance to enjoy your company since you were knighted. You’ve made yourself busier than an old senator.”

You refuted his words, retorted that _he_ was the constantly unreachable shadow, wandering between planetary systems and moody pre-teens. How often you went and knock on his door any time you were on leave only to be met with a locked door silently mocking you. He said that more often than not, he would meet the same fate (it’s true) and would try to fill his absence with little souvenirs he brought you back from his various destinations (it’s also true), leaving them under your doormat. You chastised him about it, complaining about that time he deemed wise to leave a bar of sweet-smelling treat in that specific spot, knowing damn well that colder days were approaching and the Temple had a floor heating system. By the time you had come back to your quarters, the bar was but molten goo and host to flowery mycelium. You complained about the mess it was to scrub and intentionally omitted to mention the blue box you kept under your bed, home to pressed flowers, amulets and other trinkets he has gotten you – you’ve kept every single one of them (expect the bar, which found its way straight to the waste bag).

Bowls were emptied, cleaned and stored away (Obi-Wan insisted on doing the dishes), and you both returned your focus to preparing the mission. Two travel bags and a satchel were waiting in your shared sleeping quarters. Digging through your belongings, you felt slightly anxious at the lack of neutral-coloured clothing and were met only with luxurious, expensive looking fabric with colours that would fit into any rainbow. You took out and set aside a long emerald dress and the heavy brown cloak, deeming them to be a believable travel attire to change into before landing.

Obi-Wan dug out datapads and a sealed, square box from the satchel. He gave you your datapad, which you supposed contained more details about the mission, and eyed the box curiously, turning it between his fingers, examining the object to find its opening mechanism. Finally, twisting the top part from the bottom of the box revealed its content; two rings and two identical pins.

“Ah, right. Married and crime lords” he stated matter-of-factly. He passed you one of the pins; it was golden and represented a wild bird, wings spread and embedded with precious gem stone. You supposed it represented the sigil of your imaginary crime syndicate, operating from the deep underworld of Coruscant, coordinating heavy weaponry and oil trafficking. Your cheeks blushed a little when you realized the rings where, in fact, wedding bands, and Obi-Wan has already slipped his on his finger, holding yours between his thumb and index. His other hand was extended “May I, milady?”

Your head jerked up to meet his cerulean eyes, a playful glint in their corners. You put the tip of your fingers in his calloused member. “I hope you have asked for my parents’ permission before so bluntly asking for my hand, sir.” He winked, running his hand through his hair to push back the growing locks. “I am afraid we are eloping, love.” Sliding the band onto your ring finger, the cold metal feeling foreign there, he added: “My dear wife.”

Somehow, your heart jostled a bit upon hearing his words and you smiled shyly. “Husband.”

Obi-Wan decided to meditate for a few moments before arrival. You offered he use the sleeping quarters for peace, as you wanted to go over the mission’s detail one last time in the cockpit. You must have dozed off reading about inter-rim smuggling routes because when you woke up, you were still curled in the pilot’s seat, a blanket you later recognized as Obi-Wan cloak draped over you.

*** * ***

The outer-rim planet hosting your mission’s location was filled with luscious flora and where no greeneries grew, cities spread outwards rather than upwards, reminding you of a deceptive replica of Naboo. You landed in the royal spaceport, along with other foreign ships surely belonging to other “buyers” invited to the king’s exposition. Immediately upon setting foot on land, Obi-Wan’s hand found its way to the small of your back, then around, finally settling on your hip. _So it begins_ , you thought. He met your eyes with a reassuring smile, giving you the confidence you needed to kick start your brain into immersing yourself in this new persona. You awkwardly leaned into his touch as the palace’s servant gathered your belonging, leading you to meet the group of newly arrived guest to the main palace, on the city’s rim, where you were all dispatched to your assigned quarters.

“His Majesty and his court expect all guests for a welcome dinner after sunset. He will be opening the exposition.” You were told when the servant opened the door to your room before handing Obi-Wan the keys.

The room, as could be expected in such milieu, was large, but decorations remained modest. Obi-Wan was already checking every corners of the room for anything suspicious when you were still taking in the beauty of the quarters. A thick deep orange carpet covered the dark wooden floor. A large mirror adorned a wall, reaching all the way up to the ceiling, reflecting the more-than-two-person canopy bed and its white veiled curtains. In a corner, a dining table and four chairs, in the other, a curved loveseat with white pillows. Another long plush couch was pushed again the wall under the window, next to the mirror, which offered an exclusive view on the forest surrounding the palace.

“Don’t even think of offering to sleep on it. I will not put up with you complaining about a sore back every morning”

“Actually, since I am quite larger than you, I thought I might be taking the bed – and you get this marvelous couch.”

You threw a pillow at him, and missed. “I do hope your fighting skills are better than your throws!” He set his bag down on the bed, claiming his side, his hand again in his hair, and your stomach sank a little at the realization that yes - _you will really be sharing a bed_ , and it sank a little more when you couldn’t understand why it made you feel warm and shivering at the same time.

“If you steal the duvet, I will put my cold feet on you. Consider yourself warned, Kenobi.”

“Don’t worry darling, your body temperature is safe with me. Now let’s go for a walk, assess the surroundings. We have a few hours before the sunset.”

And then the sun set, and you had to get ready for dinner. You excused yourself to the fresher first, taking your bag, Fumbling again through the coloured fabrics with the same anxiety, you pulled out what you deemed to be the least ostentatious outfit offered – a loose satin grey dress, with straps so thin you were afraid they would snap at the first sudden arm movement, but at least it was long enough to cover the rest of your body. You put it on and stood awkwardly in front of the mirror, your eyes failing to recognize the reflection starring back. You did not like it – you were too uncovered, to bare, to exposed. This was unlike anything you ever wear daily, and the smooth fabric sliding on your skin felt too foreign for you to be comfortable. Turning around, you grimaced at how low the back was, now confronted with a literally visible underwear problem and decided against wearing one, cursing at the impracticality of formal attires. At least the cleavage offered more coverage. You keep most your hair down, still overly conscious about your bare shoulders, only twisting the strands that would frame your face behind your ears and securing them with crystal-decorated pins. And then you stepped out of the fresher.

And then Obi-Wan thought he died a sudden death and an angel has come to reap him. His mind wandered back to stories Anakin always rambled about beautiful beings inhabiting the deepest corners of the galaxy and how they just seemed to float in an aura than made them glow and he thought – _this is it_. This is his end, and you were his angel. And then only this last par was true, because angels aren’t reals but you were both real and ethereal and this was everything but his end, if anything it was the beginning of something he wasn’t quite understanding yet. He’s seen you before, but how has he never noticed you? You, the strong warrior he was practically raised with, now glowing in your silver gown, hiding glittering stars in your locks? If angels resided in the deepest corners of the galaxy, then he’s now found you a home in the deepest corners of his mind, and he knew he won’t be chasing you from there anytime soon – if ever.

You swore you saw Obi-Wan… _blush?_ But before you could give it any second thought, his hand was holding yours and his lips were delicately pressed to your fingers and his bright irises searching for your eyes. Now it was your turn to blush. His other hand then scrabbled for something in his pocket, reaching for the golden pin with the wild bird and he once again whispered “may I?” before clipping in to the your dress, where the thin strap met the bodice.

“Is this all too much? It feels very inappropriate on me.”

“It’s beautiful.”

You wished he had said “you” instead of “it” but you gave him a smile and took his arm as you heard a knock on the door - the messenger servant sent to lead you to the dinner hall. You slip him your lightsaber, easier to hide under is loose clothes than your elegant dress. He opted for brown trousers and a deep purple linen shirt that he did not button all the way up. You silently admired your partner’s ability to just fit in anywhere, his posture straighter and more confident than usual (if it was at all possible), and his hold on you firm as he lead you sternly behind the servant. The jedi he is was well hidden under this new demeanor, and you did your best to mirror his expression, worried that you’d make your couple look underwhelming.

“Darling, I believe we have not talked about boundaries yet. The veracity of our act inevitably requires displays of affection, which I trust we both understand. But you must let me know if I ever overstep, as I may not keep my hands off you tonight.”

You nodded in agreement, very aware of the fact that he basically said he _will be_ touching you – quite a lot. You were led through sun colored corridors, large windows illuminating your surroundings with the last rays of the dying day. Your arm still around Obi-Wan’s, you followed the servant out of the residential building, crossed a lush court surrounded by gardens and fountains and flowers smelling of power and credits into the main building. On your previous reconnaissance walk, you had noticed the exotic architecture, vaulted arches and high ceilings, pillars forming straight lines occasionally broken by mural ornaments. Everything was open, spacious and bright, but like your room, the decorations remained simple yet refined. Mouldings ornated each corner of the ceiling and the floor was a mosaic of orange-toned tiles. You passed by an atrium, open to the sky and home to yet another fountain. High class for an outer-rim world.

The dining hall followed the consistent décor of the palace. High ceilings and their mouldings and oh, – the whole ceiling itself was one big mirror. Three large tables were set, arranged in an open square formation. The atmosphere was already lively, and you were surprised at the number of people assisting to his exposition. No matter how hard the Republic claimed to fight against slavery, it remained a very much widespread practice in which too many lords seem to indulge. Another the thing that hit you – the women. You immediately noticed the contrast between the guests and the locals. The former wore similar attire as you, expensive evening gowns cut in noble materials (you winced internally as you realized that your outfit was indeed underwhelming in comparison), and the latter were covered head to toe in colourful fabric, long dresses trailing behind them, hair hidden under an assorted scarf. The different shape of their silhouettes betraying their diverse origins. They sat aligned at the table in the middle, two empty spots at its center, talking only to each other. The harem.

No other chairs were arranged, it will not be a seated dinner for the guests. You both approached the table on the left and when all guests have arrived and settled around the dinning arrangement, an old Zygerrian announced the king and his First Wife. Enter a tall, slim man wearing a long navy robe and a small, round, severe looking women. She was wearing a similar attire has the other wives, but the colour matched that of the king. He started his speech, something about lineage-long tradition of exploring and harvesting innocent youth across the galaxy to serve the best of the men and women. How he has mastered the art of finding only the best, most beautiful and promising beings and how excited he was to show them, how he will have them “parade” with his wives as dinner progresses, so each guests can get acquainted and take the time to choose their preferred match. Sales would be finalized at the end of the week and you wondered how choosing a slave could take so many rotations. You finally decided to pay a little less attention to the words and a little bit more to the people, your eyes scanning through the crowd for any interesting face, carefully probing them with the Force. You felt a little sick at the dangerous energy that emanated from the group. Malice. Greed. A little bit of fear?

You reluctantly left Obi-Wan to get you both drinks once the king finished his oration, glass raised and inviting the festivities to start. The reality of this mission sank in when hooded figures, too small to fit in, too young to be here, were brought in to the wives. All except the First Wife were assigned a figure and you noticed how each pair seemed to be of the same species. Guests immediately found their way to the drinks and sustenance before approaching the colourful covered pair closest to them. The man would always examine the subject as the women immediately started talking to the wife, and you understood your purpose in the mission. You could not shake away the nausea slowly building up in your stomach as you strayed through the crowd, eavesdropping on bribes of conversation, glancing each time a buyer your lift the hood off a little figure, revealing little boys and girls, face too round, eyes too wide, soul too pure to be put in this situation. Trying not to overthink their origin and breathing your distress out, you were making your way back to your fellow Jedi, two ruby wine glasses in your hand when:

“I am surprised someone in your youth would already be looking for another toy. Aren’t they too young for you?”

You turned around and were met with a handsome man, visibly an unaccompanied guest. You did not fully understand the meaning of his words, but you observed he was roughly your age.

“I am not quite sure what you mean sir, but I suppose I could address the same question back to you?”

“A man never has too many toys”.

The way he said it, his tone, sent a shiver down your spine and you crossed your arm to hide the goose bumps you could feel rising your hairs there. He flashed you a smile, all teeth and undeniably, dangerously charming, and you smiled back curtly, every fiber of your being screaming at you to turn around and cut the conversation short. You were starting to get an idea of what was really going on at this auction and you did not like it one bit.

“However do you mean by that?”

He stepped closer to you, taking one of the wine glasses from your hand, shamelessly taking a long sip of it. You straighten your posture, refusing to break his stare with a blink. Against your better judgement you readjusted a stand of hair behind your ear, bringing your own glass to your lips.

“Look around, my dear. We are about two decades younger than most buyers here, surely we must be seeking different things from them.”

“And what is it that you seek?”

Another sip of wine. His eyes bore into yours.

“Pretty things.”

And before you could answer, Obi-Wan has found you, his hand back to its place again on the small of your back. He was followed by by a pair of Togrutas, a veiled wife wearing light blue garments, her hand on the shoulder of a little Togruta girl, dressed in similar colours, eyes fixed on the floor.

“There you are my love. I need you to officiate my study of this young girl.” Then, turning to the lad beside you, “I don’t believe we’ve met?”

You all introduced yourself, and Obi-Wan stiffened when _Perry, from Cantonica,_ bowed and managed to brush his lips against your knuckles, holding your hand a second too long to his liking. He reinforced his grip on you. You were already too close to him when he spotted you, and he did not miss the way Perry’s eyes crudely wandered over your figure. He nudged you towards the waiting Togruta pair, and you began asking questions you believed slavers would ask – her age, her health, strengths and weaknesses. The wife answered patiently answered, her eyes never leaving your face and her hand never leaving the girl. From the corner of your eyes, you saw Obi-Wan kneeling down in front of the girl and his hand moved to examine her limbs and montrals. To an outsider, he would seem like a natural, but you saw has his touch was firm but gentle, and how he seemed to softly ask permission to the little girl before moving to another body part. Obi-Wan’s heart broke a little when she only nodded in agreement, her lifeless eyes never leaving the floor. Perry was still observing you in silence, his eyes curiously darting between Obi-Wan and you. Finally, he released the little girl and you thanked her matrona.

“I see you are unaccompanied. Given the situation, I will be happy to lead an interaction in your name.”

“I will be happy to just join you in your meetings, if you’ll allow me.”

You seeked Obi-Wan’s eyes for approval and he nodded. The evening continued like this for a while, the three of you alternating between the buffet and meeting other younglings, some more talkative than others, and you mediating the interactions, repeating the question the men were asking directly to the matrona, who would only answer to you. Perry seemed to take a particular interest in two of the older ones (you tried not to gag), and Obi-Wan chose a little Twi’lek as fake target. You noted that the little boy reminded you of Anakin. Some of the kids surely originated from the core planets, noticing a Pantoran, and you wondered how the king managed to have such a broad diversity. Not that you’d know much about slave trade, but you were still surprised. By the time the event drew to its end, both your mind and body were exhausted, and when Perry tried to drag Obi-Wan into a private game of Sabacc in the king’s quarters, you nudged him to go (for more information, you whispered softly). Perry noticed how you hastly took your leave, excusing yourself for the evening.

“Do you not kiss your wife goodnight, Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes met yours, unsure what to do, trying to fight the urge to just slam his lips against yours and giving in to the temptation to explore your skin, drawing constellations along the trail of his mouth on your neck, but not daring to without consulting you.

“Only in the privacy of our room.”

He still pulled you close on last time and his lips brushed your temple, inhaling your sweet scent. You tried to ignore your disappointment. He didn’t want to let you go alone, and there was no way he could discretely slip your lightsaber back to you. But you were a resourceful women and he trusted you to make it back to the room without incident. As you left the main building, you spotted a group of the wives discussing around the fountain, seemingly more relaxed and joyful than they were in the dining hall. Their conversation died and a stern look settled on their faces as you approached, asking if you could join them. With a little use of the force to sooth any distrust, you managed to ease into their discussions, hoping that the wine that flowed this evening would loosen tongues and appease suspicions.

*** * ***

Your mind was wandering on the sharp edge between awake and asleep when Obi-Wan came back to your room, tiptoeing his way across the entrance. You had let his bedside lamp dimly lit for him, and you observed quietly as he removed his shirt, his bare chest and their red hair and taut muscle on full display for you. Has he noticed you were awake? You felt guilty for prying, like you were witnessing something deliciously illicit, but the way his skin seemed to gleam under the dim warm light, shadows only enhancing his features, how he look strong yet tired and vulnerable had something too mesmerizing for you to tear your eyes away.

Of course he had noticed you weren’t sleeping, but he wasn’t going to let you feel embarrassed for starring. Besides, he couldn’t resist putting on a little show, one last treat to end this tedious day before slumping next to you. But as he was pulling his shirt above his head, he suddenly felt self-conscious about his nakedness, and decided to quietly disappear into the fresher. You were right, joining the Sabacc tournament gained him access to exclusive information, some he could easily pull out from drunken lords, gladly taking hints he was dropping to steer the conversation the way he wanted to. He had so much to discuss with you, but for now he had to focus on getting the smell of spirit off his scent and getting himself _into bed with you_. That last part was making him more anxious than having to face a tantrum-throwing Anakin, and despite the late hour, he opted for a quick shower.

Clean and absolutely worn out, he silently slid under the duvet next to you, careful not to wake you up. You were really sleeping now, your back facing the edge of the bed, your breathing soft and steady. He took one last look at you before turning the light off, how your lips were slightly parted and pouty, and your chest rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm. How your hair framed your beautiful face, and he chastised himself once more for not looking at you earlier, for taking so many years to realize what he had just here, right in front of him, and how he didn’t know what to do with it. It – the fuzzy feeling in his stomach that did not seem to settle since you landed but only to grow in intensity as he could not peel his eyes off you the whole evening. And when he fully put his weight down on the mattress, you shifted a little bit closer to him, your warm radiating under the blanket and he thought he might suffocate when he noticed how small the straps of your nightdress where, and he couldn’t help but wonder how soft you must feel if he were to hold you, but then your leg brushed his and he scooted just a millimeter more against you.

“Good night, little one.”

*** * ***

It was in a silent mutual agreement that you both ignored the fact that when you woke up this morning, your legs were tangled together, his arm somehow found their way across your middle, your head resting in the crook of his neck, and he stole an innocent kiss from on your forehead when you were still weary. It was in a silent understanding that when you got dressed and went down for breakfast, the hands you held with each other was nothing but another façade, another prop to the act you play. At least, that’s what you both tried to convince yourselves with. That was why the overall you chose this morning was a little bolder, _red_ , mind you, and the cut twice as deep, this time both in the back and the front. The visible underwear problem remained and at this point you gave up on wearing any. The bodice hugged your curves in all the right places (he tried very hard not to stare), the wide bottom pants flowing around your legs despite the thicker material. On the practical side, it had pockets, and the looseness of the pants allowed you to strap your lightsaber to your inner thigh. That was also why, like yesterday, Obi-Wan secured the pin to your strap, his fingers lingering a moment longer on your collarbone, a subtle caress to the skin above your breast.

“It’s the wives” you say later, your voice low, briefing him on your findings from the previous night while munching on some local fruit. “Did you notice how they are all from different worlds?”

“The king steals them from their home. People he deals in business with, or poorer, farther-rim systems. He offers protection to whoever is the sovereign there. In return, they have to give up their first daughter as wife, or son as slave – I don’t know what is worse. And they have to send two child here each year, a boy and a girl, elected by their people as the most beautiful.”

“I can’t believe such an elite slave trade exists with such young ones. The younglings are to be auctioned. It starts tonight. You can already place your bid with the respective matrona. Most buyers are from the core planets too.”

“They must hold a record somewhere.”

“The First Wife. She coordinates everything. She should have an office. And Obi-Wan, we might want to sneak a matrona back to Coruscant as witness – not all of them want to be here nor agree with this. Stars, Anakin would hate this place.”

He nodded approvingly, his look shutting you up as Perry appeared in your line of sight with the First Wife. She greeted the both of you, saying she insisted on meeting each customer personally, asking about if you’ve already spotted any preferred candidate, and what kind of leverage you were interested to offer up as deposit to secure a higher chance of acquiring them. You kept your answers short, ignoring Perry’s eyes on you, mentioning the young twi’lek, and a shipment of unrefined oil and spice, lying perfectly when needed and sticking to the cover story the Council had prepared. But then:

“I couldn’t help but overhear – who his this dear Anakin?”

You felt Obi-Wan tight tense up under where your hand was. You sent him a reassuring nudge through the force, putting on your most tender smile and said:

“Our son, your Majesty. He is ten.”

“Ah, then you might be interested in our little Saya. She’s a bit younger, human, but it’s good to have them match a younger age. Makes them more malleable, you know? I will have her matrona and her meet you tonight.”

You thanked her politely, saying you will need to discuss the matter with your husband first but appreciate the gesture. She updated you both on the activities the king has had organized for the guests; a visit of the baths for the females, a hunting game for the males, and left, moving on to the next table. Obi-Wan was admiring your quick wit, growling after Perry’s insistent gaze on you, at the fact you will again be separated, and you were still processing the interaction.

“Brides,” you whispered in horror. “They’re selling the girls as child bride, Obi-Wan.”

His hand squeezed yours in understanding, and you both decided to head back to your room to discuss your next plan of action – getting evidence. Tonight.

*** * ***

When you got back to your room after hours dipping in various bath waters, Obi-Wan had scrambled a note that they had come back early from the hunt and already had to join the dinner party. You took yet another shower today – who could have thought so many different baths existed? Mud, sea salt, ocean salt, dead salt (whatever that was). This night, you opted for a an exquisite chiffon blue dress (his favourite colour), again with an open back (you both secretly enjoyed when his fingers absentmindedly caressed your skin there) with a slit high on your leg (but not high enough to reveal your saber) and your hair tied in a high bun (maybe his fingers will wander to your neck too) and when you left your room that evening feeling like a million credit, you arrived at the window where we was waiting for you in the hall just in time to catch the sunset.

“It’s beautiful.” You said as you reached his side.

And despite the horrific truth behind the mission, and the exhausting day he just had putting up with the other crime lords talking about the slaves like lifeless objects, he thought you must have been bathing in the very same sunset because when he replied with “yes, beautiful” it was you and not the window he was looking at. His knuckles again found their home on the skin on your back (you screamed a little inside) and you could feel his chest pressed into your side, his warmth welcomed on your bare flesh. And then his breath against the back of your ear, the ghost of his lips barely brushing against your pulse.

“I like it.”

“What?”

“Your beard. I wasn’t sure before, but I’ve decided I like it.”

“Oh. Anything else you’ve decided to like about my body in my absence? Perhaps I could give you a tour?”

“Obi-Wan,” you gasped, amused. “Are you _flirting_ with me?”

A light chuckle escaped his lips before they found their way to the soft skin behind your ear again. “Perhaps.” His voice was sweet, teasing. “What kind of husband would I be if I did not woo my beloved wife every now and then?” His lips dipped lower to the crook of your neck and pressed a chaste kiss there, his stubble deliciously burning your skin. You turned around, hiding your shiver. His impossibly deep cerulean eyes were smiling at you, and you swore you saw them trail down your cleavage first and you rolled your eyes at him behind your lashes. His cheeks were flushed, a smug smile spread across his face. You really wanted to feel those lips on your too, now. Thinking of something to do to break this tension that _surely_ you weren’t the only one feeling, your hands went to readjust the collar of his tunic.

“While I do highly enjoy this, I need you focused, Kenobi.”

“Given how little I can do without your presence with the wives, and the drinks I was peer pressured into drinking, I might let you take the lead tonight.”

You made a point to tease him about it the whole evening when guests were called, and like last night, the matronas were already aligned with their protégés. Unlike last night, the atmosphere was tense, and you could already see quarrels rising when two buyers started bidding wars for a same subject. You refused the drinks the servants were offering (one of us has to stay sober, you said with a wink) and led Obi-Wan to the little twi’lek from yesterday. Speeches were made, more bid placed, food served, live music played and peoples have started dancing when Obi-Wan excused himself to the fresher (your skin burned where his had was resting this whole time). Perry approached you.

“Will the lovely lady grant me this dance?”

With no valid reason to excuse yourself, you had to accept. Immediately, his hand was too low on your back and his grip on your hand too tight, his breath smelling heavily of spirit. “Your husband is very protective of you”. You did not like the way he whispered into your ear; too close, too wet. “Would not agree to share you – and I’ve never heard prices go this high.” You tried to pull away a little, but he only pulled you closer, his hand now even lower. “Did he tell you I killed the largest game today, hm? I shall deserve a prize for this, don’t you think, pretty thing?”

You were about to get back to him, ready use some force to get out of his grip if you must.

“That’s enough.”

Obi-Wan was back between the two of you, jaw clenched and eyes dark, his voice deep and threatening. You took advantage of this distraction to untangle yourself from your unwanted dance partner, who gave you both a polite nod, an irritating smirk never leaving his face before leaving.

“Are you alright little one?” His hands were cupping your face, thumbs tracing circles on your cheeks. You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch.

“Drunken men and their wandering hands aren’t enough to upset me, Obi-Wan.”

“My brave girl.”

He pressed his lips to your forehead, pulling you closer to him. Your heart skipped a beat at the praise.

“What’s the trouble?”

“These men –“ he looked around, “tried to bid to have you, all day. Perry was the most insistent.”

“And?”

“No one will lay a hand on your as long you are mi- you are with me”.

He wanted to say mine. “You are mine”. Because you were, and you knew it, but he would not dare to call you as such yet. You said nothing and placed one hand on his shoulder, taking his hand in the other. He picked up on your unspoken requests, balancing his weight on his legs, and soon your head was resting on his chest as he tried to clumsily lead you to the rhythm of the music, trying to follow a melody neither of you knew. He may have stepped on your feet once or twice, but you didn’t mind. You looked up to his face and his gaze was already on yours, and your hand went from his shoulder to the back of his head, pushing it down to your neck because you couldn’t stand him looking at you like that without your stomach doings somersaults.

You looked up to the ceiling, the large mirror reflecting the dining hall, a whirlwind of people and tints and tones tangled together, mixed into an incoherent splatter of colours that made you dizzy. You tried to spot your own reflection, wondering what you’d look like in his arms, but you couldn’t make out a single face in the mist of the dancing crowd.

What you did spot, however, was the First Wife, her bright golden reflection standing out from the crowd, slightly apart. And then it clicked, and you were back in the present moment. The mission. The girls. The records. You whispered in his ear, your voice tinted with urgency.

“She spies on people. The mirror. We can’t wait until the end like we planned. We must slip away while the room is still full, it will make it harder to spot us.”

He agreed silently, and with a few more steps and twists and turns, gradually led you through the mass of dancers, towards to back door, and when you were far enough, you waited for that beat, that moment to sneak out of the dining hall in silence. Obi-Wan produced a computer system key from his pocket and lead you through corridors and stairs. “I spied on her when we got back earlier. Her quarters are above the halls,” he explained. And that where you went. You hoped his inebriety has lowered and kept your senses in alert as you arrived in a pink clay corridor, in front of a large wooden door. You trusted Obi-Wan that this was the right place, and when you found the control panel, he gave you the system key. You were fast enough, and with a little bit of guidance from the Force, managed to unlock the door.

“Be quick,” you whispered, and he slipped into the office, leaving you to guard the passage.

And he was quick, reappearing with a triumphant smile, slipping what appeared to be a holochip under his tunic. You proceeded to attempt to close the door, only for it to get stuck half way. To make matter worse, you could hear footsteps coming down the corridor, approaching at a steady pace. Calling on the Force to keep you grounded, you focused on the key turning in the panel, aware of all the notches position it went through. Then the door closed and locked, just as the footsteps were reaching you, a flash of golden yellow hinting something bad, and before you could think, you grabbed Obi-Wan’s hand and pulled him to you, pressing your back to the wall, your dress covering the still open control panel.

“What are you doing?”

“Covering us.”

You put your arms around his neck and pulled him for a kiss. He didn’t react at first, slightly dumbfounded and taken aback, but once he caught up to your thinking he snaked his arms around your waist and pressed himself further against you. His lips responded to your, engaging them in a silent conversation that only grew more heated at you heard the footstep stop. Your heart must have also stopped too, and you weren’t breathing anymore, too aware of the pair of eyes on the two of you, too excited by the tongue that was now requesting entrance to your mouth, and you granted. Conversations turned into a dance, tongues trying to dominate the other, teeth grazing and nipping at lips. You closed your eyes, this was all too much. And then he moved down to your neck, his tongue laving at the skin there, tracing kisses into a pattern down to your shoulder. You felt his hand reach behind you, down your leg, his body following his movement and his lips now nipping at the side of your arm. A slight tug on your dress, and he was reaching back up, his hand now dipping beneath the slip of your dress, pulling your leg to hook it around hip. His fingers kneaded the skin on your inner tight, and you gasped at his audacity, but when you felt something cold pressed again your skin, you realized he had removed the computer system key and secured it to your strap, next to your lightsaber.

You heard the footsteps again, their echo a diminuendo as they departed. And Obi-Wan heard it to, but he did nothing to pull away, and you did nothing either. Instead, his ministrations toned down, growing softer, turning into tender nipping at your jaw, timid kisses on each corners of your lips. You slowly withdrew your leg from his side and he sighed at the absence of contact. You kept your eyes shut, knowing that if you were to open them, the blue gaze that would meet you will be your end. So you waited until he relaxed his grip on your waist, his teeth grazing your skin one last time, and there was nothing left of the two jedi on a mission but panting bodies and hungry stares and cheeks flushed with blood and intertwined fingers. Then a scary thought crossed your mind – this meant nothing, this was just a cover, and you turned your face away, gently pushing him back. He released you, trying to regain his composure. You kicked the door of the control panel closed, and when you looked back at him, nothing on his face betrayed the events that just transpired – not even wet lips. He was all serious eyes and stern face, and you both agreed to head back to your quarters to contact the Council immediately.

*** * ***

The holo-records Obi-Wan stole were sent via a secure pulse transmission to the council, which revealed that numerous high placed personalities from Republic planets were involved in this slave ring. The Senate thus took the matter in their hands, deciding to send their law reinforcement for arrests before the sales would be concluded at the end of the week. Obi-Wan and you were to leave the premises before things got dirtier, and a few standard hours later, you were both back in your Jedi robes, all lavish make-up and attire stored away in their original travel bag, like a circus would fold up its tent after a show. You stayed silent as Obi-Wan typed in the coordinated back to Coruscant, drawing your legs up to your chin in the co-pilot’s chair.

You turned the wedding band around your finger, the last piece of your costume you had not gotten yourself to remove yet, thoughts wandering around the symbolism and the implications that came with such a small piece of metal. Obi-Wan sensed your inner turmoil and, the autopilot engaged, turned his chair to face you, taking your hands in his.

“What is it, love?”

“The band. It is strange to think that two people fall in love, and the whole foundation of their trust, their intimacy, everything they share is held like a promise on one finger, and taking this away means taking everything away.”

“Very much like us, our lightsabers and the Order. It is but another token to a lifetime commitment.”

“We commit to a code, to a place, a lifestyle and the Force. But do we ever really commit to anyone? I feel like a fraud wearing it.”

He gave you a strange look, and you hoped he understood that you were not questioning your allegiance to the Order. _Just where my heart belongs_ , you thought. He stayed silent, his fingers playing with said band, turning it around your finger. You couldn’t tell where this was coming from, thinking that your emotional ramble was no longer valid now that the mission was over and he would not understand why you suddenly felt so _empty_ – because it means going back to being Jedi, and not unlawfully wed husband and wife. But then he pressed both your hands to his forehead, bending in front of you like he did that time he was crying over his fears in your room.

“Please don’t ever think what happened on that planet was meaningless. There is no one else in the galaxy with whom I would have wanted to indulge in this experience but you, and I would like to do it for as long as you’ll have me. If you’ll have me.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and your thoughts had not caught up with your words when you blurted out:

“I want you Obi-Wan. Always.”

You pulled him up to you. His lips met yours again, and this time you knew it was real. It was soft at first, as if he never kissed you before, lips exploring lips and when he familiarized himself with the map of your curves and corners, his teeth nipped at your bottom lip, his tongue seeking yours. You opened your mouth to him, and he pulled you up, pressing your body into his and you melted a little as you became one with him. His arms wrapped you in a tight embrace and your hands found their way around his neck, in his hair, tugging the lock affectionately. He hummed in content, you sighed in relief.

You knew this could – would – mean long discussions about your values, the conflicting dichotomy between listening to your feelings but not indulging in them, that it would mean more secrets, stolen glances and forbidden touches, another perception of the time and space between you and him, parsecs and moons away from each other during missions. You smiled against his lips as you thought about how things always come in pairs; light and dark, moons and suns, seas and skies, days and night, and how maybe, you and him could be the two counterparts of your own binary system.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! Thank you so much for reading all the way down to here!  
> This is my first fic ever - i'm sorry if it's a bit long, but I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing. This was a request for a fakemarriage!obi-wan prompt, originally posted on tumblr (come find me at obaby-wan !).  
> Any feedback, both negative and positive are very much welcomed - I'd love to get a little bit more into writing and English is not my native language, so any tips will be great!  
> Thanks again for reading <3


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